


meet me on the landing

by momentofmemory



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Scott-Centric, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentofmemory/pseuds/momentofmemory
Summary: There’s nothing at the foot of the stairs.Gravel under his shoes, gasoline in his nose. Flames reflecting off his eyes and flecks of deep-red rust from the motel steps on his palms.But nothing,whisper his thoughts.Nothing for you.(or: a series of ten interconnected, 100-word drabbles exploring Scott's character arc through the lens of staircases.)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 22





	meet me on the landing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spikeface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeface/gifts).



> Each drabble corresponds to a staircase present during a prominent moment in Scott's life—such as the stairs he was thrown down in his house (as per 3x23), which are later the same stairs he fell down with Liam (in 4x04). Drabbles 1-5 and 6-10 were designed to mirror each other in style and theme.
> 
> Thanks to [LuthienKenobi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienKenobi/pseuds/LuthienKenobi) for the beta read and [LilBiFurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilBiFurious) for the encouragement.

There’s a dent at the foot of the stairs.

He doesn’t know how it got there.

He remembers—his dad, he thinks. Shouting. Grasping at thin air, a moment of a terror. Weightlessness.

Then nothing.

Later, his dad will explain that he fell (he was thrown?) and that’s why he had to leave (he was left). Later, he’ll be told that the pain was an accident (but the act that changed his life was a choice).

Later, he’ll have the wisdom (the experience) to know the difference.

But now?

Right now, all he knows is that his dad is gone.

* * *

There’s a boy at the foot of the stairs.

Predator, _threat,_ his voice screams—but his eyes only see Stiles, and Stiles just means friend.

“They found a body,” he says. “A _dead_ body.”

He blinks a few times, surprised. _Excited_.

His lacrosse stick is waiting for him upstairs, and he knows he should sleep. Knows he needs to be responsible.

But Stiles has on his favorite grin, the one that says, ‘trust me, it’ll be fun,’ and it’s too tempting to pass up.

So he lowers his bat.

Hops down the steps.

“Okay.”

It’s not like it’ll hurt him.

* * *

There’s nothing at the foot of the stairs.

Gravel under his shoes, gasoline in his nose. Flames reflecting off his eyes and flecks of deep-red rust from the motel steps on his palms.

 _But nothing_ , whisper his thoughts. _Nothing for_ you.

It hurts; a phantom pain in his side that isn’t real but aches just the same, and he wants it all to end.

Wants _to_ end.

Sparks burn against skin, heat intoxicating; freeing. The flare tilts.

Someone clambers down the stairs.

Steps into his space.

“ _You’re_ _someone._ ”

He shudders, and Stiles’ trembling hand thrusts forward.

He lets him come.

* * *

There’s a monster at the foot of the stairs.

The shadow stretches towards him, wolfish—a terrifying vision of wiry fur and inhuman strength, and he knows he can’t escape it. Can’t escape its soul-rending howl, its cloying, mindless rage, its false promise of freedom.

Can’t escape it because it’s his, and to let it loose is to let others die.

 _(Part of him wants to, and maybe that’s why he’s the monster._ )

_(He refuses.)_

He jumps the last three steps and there’s nowhere left to hide, but he doesn’t have to:

His pack is here.

(The monster runs away.)

* * *

There’s light at the foot of the stairs.

It’s not for him.

He likes Kira, he _really_ does, and he’s sure she likes him back—but he’s afraid.

Afraid of the loss and rage and violence that follow him everywhere. Afraid he’ll always be fighting to survive—losing. Afraid most of all because the monster is _him_ , and he has to keep it away from _them_.

Except—

He _wants_ to try. To live. He hasn’t loved anyone since _her_ ; isn’t sure if anything lasts. But—

He doesn’t want to be alone, so he runs to the stairs.

Light streams in.

* * *

There’s a dent at the foot of the stairs.

He doesn’t know how he got here.

He blames—the wendigo, maybe. Himself. Grasping at straws, a cresting wave of guilt. Helplessness.

Failing and falling.

Later, he’ll explain again that he was bitten (that _he_ bit him), and that’s why he can’t leave (he won’t leave). Later, he’ll tell him the change was an accident (but how the change affects him is his choice).

Later, he’ll have the words (the honesty) to know how to say it all.

But now?

Right now, all he knows is that his beta is gone.

* * *

There’s a boy at the foot of the stairs.

Predator, _threat_ , his instincts scream—but he’s running out of options, and Theo’s just another risk/reward.

“Then I’ll read it too,” he says.

His lower lip catches between his teeth, concerned. _Relieved_.

Kids dying all around him, and he knows he has to stop it. Knows he’s always the one responsible.

Theo’s wearing an open smile, the kind that says, ‘trust me, it’ll be fine,’ and he’s too desperate to pass it up.

So he lowers his defenses.

Hands over the book.

“Okay.”

It’s not like it’ll kill him.

* * *

There’s nothing at the foot of the stairs.

Torn flesh across his chest, poisoned air in his lungs. Hate reflecting off golden eyes and drops of bright-red blood dripping down his claws.

 _But no_ _one_ , whispers Theo’s smile. _No one for you._

It wouldn’t hurt so much if he didn’t know it were true.

His spark burns red against his irises, tantalizing; damning. A curse he’s forced to keep more than a prize he’s ever won.

Someone shoves him to the stairs.

Laughs in his face.

_You’re nothing._

He shudders, and Theo’s vicious claws thrust forward.

He lets him come.

* * *

There’s a monster at the foot of the stairs.

The beast looms over him, predatory—an eldritch horror of black oil and corded muscle, and he knows he can’t stop it. Can’t stop its cruel, bloodied claws, its open-mouthed snarl, its menacing promise of death.

Can’t stop it because he’s not enough, but to run would condemn others to die.

_(He knows what that’s like, and maybe that’s why he refuses.)_

_(He’s not the monster.)_

He’s thrown against the steps and he stands with his last breath, because he’s not going down:

His pack is here.

(The monster runs away.)

* * *

There’s light at the foot of the stairs.

It’s not for him.

He’s tired, he’s _so tired_ , and they tell him he has to heal—but he’s afraid.

Afraid of the hurt and guilt and pain that threaten to swallow him whole. Afraid he’ll always be lost in the dark—scrambling. Afraid because facing the monster was about _them_ , but healing is about _him_.

Except—

He _wants_ to heal. To live. He hasn’t done what he wanted in a very long time; isn’t even sure if he remembers how. But—

He’s not alone, so he opens his eyes.

Light streams in.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for _Teen Wolf Legacy's Top Dogs Week, day one: character study._
> 
> The corresponding episodes for each drabble are: Insatiable (3x23), Wolf Moon (1x01), Motel California (3x06), Anchors (3x13), Muted (4x03), The Benefactor (4x04), Required Reading (5x06), Status Asthmaticus (5x10), Maid of Gevaudan (5x18), and The Wolves of War (6x20).
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me either in the comments or on [tumblr](https://momentofmemory.tumblr.com/). <3


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